


EMERGENCY!: Samson

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Emergency Medical Technicians, Engine 51 - Freeform, Fire, Hospital, Los Angeles, Medicine, Overdose, Rampart, Rescue, Squad 51, Station 51 (Emergency!), paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17522501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: Set after Season 6. Johnny is ordered to get a haircut. Meanwhile, a new doctor joins the staff at Rampart. Emergencies include a man in anaphylactic shock, a trapped bank teller, and a dangerous apartment house fire.





	EMERGENCY!: Samson

_ **EMERGENCY!** _

“ _ **SAMSON”**_

  
  


The morning traffic passed by Los Angeles County Fire Station 51. Out front, Firefighter/Specialist Mike Stoker raised the U.S. and California flags. The apparatus door was open to reveal Engine and Squad 51 parked side by side, ready for duty.

  
  


Johnny Gage sat in one of the creaky wooden chairs at the table in the station’s kitchen, his head buried in a newspaper.

  
  


Chet Kelly strolled into the kitchen and headed for the coffee pot.

  
  


“Mornin’, Johnny.”

  
  


“Chet,” Johnny replied plainly.

  
  


Chet took a mug from the cupboard, then stopped suddenly. He slowly turned and stared at Johnny.

  
  


“I don’t believe it.”

  
  


“Oh, what?” Johnny replied, annoyed.

  
  


“I don’t believe it. I’m standin’ here, but I don’t believe it. You got a haircut.”

  
  


Johnny lowered the newspaper to reveal that his dark and near shaggy mane, infamous among the other firefighters, had been neatly trimmed, tapered and parted on one side.

  
  


“Big deal, Chet. I got my hair cut. So what?”

  
  


“Yes. Yes it _is_ a big deal, Johnny,” Chet said, walking around in order to get a better look at him. “Those Gage locks are famous. At the last battalion picnic, that’s all the wives and girlfriends could talk about. And now…it’s gone. Your best asset is all gone. You look like you did when you were a boot.”

  
  


“Now, listen here, Chet. My hair is not my best asset.” Johnny tossed the paper onto the table. “I’m a charismatic guy. Ask any of the nurses at Rampart. I mean, I’m-”

  
  


His partner, Roy De Soto walked in, followed by Captain Stanley.

  
  


“Did you guys know about this?” called Chet, sitting down at the table. “Gage chopped off all his hair.”

  
  


Roy shrugged as he poured himself and his captain a cup of coffee.

  
  


“So?”

  
  


Chet reached out to touch Johnny’s hair, only to have Johnny quickly slap his hand away.

  
  


“Well, I mean, why would he disfigure himself like that?”

  
“I just thought it was time for a change, that’s all,” Johnny replied, picking up his newspaper.

  
  


“Yeah, you weren’t the only one,” said Roy, taking a sip of his coffee.

  
  


Johnny rolled his eyes.

  
  


Chet looked at him sideways.

  
  


“Uh, how’s that Roy?”

  
  


“Well,” Roy cleared his throat as he leaned against the sink. “Last shift, while you were on vacation, Chief McConikee did a surprise inspection. We passed with flying colors, but he told Johnny that he had to get a regulation haircut.”

  
  


“I see.” Chet stroked his bushy mustache. “So it takes a direct order from the B.C. himself, before the matinee idol over here cuts his hair.”

  
  


“Aw don’t listen to him, John,” said Captain Stanley. “It looks good, pal.”

Johnny sighed.

  
  


“Thanks, Cap.”

  
  


“Yeah. I have to admit. It does look good,” Chet replied.

  
  


“Thank you. Now, can I finish reading my paper?”

  
  


“Sure, sure.” Chet stood up. “Makes you wonder, though.”

  
  


“Wonder what?” Johnny snapped, growing increasingly irritated.

  
  


“Well, how are the legions of your many female admirers gonna react to it? Remember what happened when Samson cut _his_ hair? That was a real drag.”

  
  


Johnny stared at the table with a sudden look of trepidation on his face.

  
  


The alert tones sounded, followed by the klaxon buzzer.

  
  


“ _Station 51, man down. 522 Stevenson. 5-2-2 Stevenson. Cross street Temple. Time out, 0755._ ”

  
  


The firefighters hurried out of the kitchen. Johnny paused momentarily and looked at his reflection in the oven door. He picked at an errant strand of hair before jogging out onto the apparatus floor.

  
  


As he and Roy climbed into the squad, the captain stepped into the small alcove where the station's radio was located. He copied down the address and picked up the microphone.

  
  


“Station 51, 10-4. KMG-365.”

  
  


He handed the slip to Roy, then jogged past the squad to the engine. Several seconds later the two rigs screamed out of the station and onto the busy boulevard.

  
  


XXXXXX

 

Engine 51 roared around the corner onto Stevenson avenue, followed by Squad 51. The two rigs cut their sirens as they pulled to the curb in front of a two story house.

  
  


“No! No!” a middle aged woman screamed as she paced back and forth on the front lawn, waving her arms.

  
  


“What’s the problem, ma’am?' asked Captain Stanley, closing his door on the engine.

  
  


“No!” she called desperately. “I told the operator that I needed an ambulance! Not the Fire Department! My husband's having a heart attack, he needs to go to the hospital!”

  
  


“Where’s your husband, ma’am?” asked Roy as he and Johnny made their way over carrying their gear.

  
  


“He’s in the back yard! Aren’t you listening? He needs a doctor!”

  
  


“It’s okay, ma’am, they’re paramedics.” said the Captain. “They’ll take good care of your husband.”

  
  


“Para…what? I don’t understand…”

  
  


“Your husband’s in good hands.”

  
  


Johnny and Roy entered through the side gate and made their way along the house into the backyard, followed by the engine‘s crew.

  
  


A man in his forties lay on the grass, curled on his side, wheezing.

  
  


Johnny knelt beside the man and slipped off his helmet.

  
  


“Sir, can you tell us what happened?”

  
  


The man continued to wheeze, holding his arms close to his chest.

  
  


“Are you having trouble breathing, Sir? “ asked Roy.

  
  


The man nodded.

  
  


“How about your chest? Do you have any chest pains?”

  
  


The man shook his head negatively.

  
  


“He’s cyanotic,” said Johnny, opening the orange Bio-Phone case. “Roy, these look like hives.”

  
  


“He didn’t have a heart attack,” Roy replied. “He's in anaphylactic shock.”

  
  


He inspected the man’s arms to find a small red welt.

  
  


“Johnny, I got what looks like a bee sting here. Sir? Do you know if you have any allergies?”

  
  


“I…I don’t know…” the man gasped.

  
  


“Looks like you're having an allergic reaction to a bee sting,” Roy said as he opened the black drug box.

  
  


Johnny scribbled on his notepad as he lifted the Bio-phone's handset.

  
  


“Rampart Base, this is County 51, how do you read?”

  
  


Dr. Early stepped into the Rampart ER base station and pressed the radio’s transmit button.

  
  


“This is Rampart Base, I read you loud and clear ‘51, go ahead.”

  
  


“Rampart, County 51. We have a male, approximately forty-five years of age, five foot, eleven, a hundred and eighty pounds, appears to be in anaphylactic shock caused by a bee sting. Stand by for vitals.”

  
  


Roy wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the man’s arm and inflated it.

  
  


“B.P.’s 165/110, Pulse is 100, Respirations 30,” he said as he slipped an oxygen mask over the patient’s face.

  
  


“Rampart, patient’s B.P. is 165/110, Pulse is 100, Respirations are 30,” Johnny repeated the information. “We also have him on 15 liters O-2 by mask.”

  
  


“10-4, ‘51. Stand by.” replied Dr. Early.

  
  


The man’s wife ran into the backyard, still crying.

  
  


“What are you doing to him?” she shrieked. “He needs to be in a hospital! He needs a doctor! He’s had a heart attack!”

  
  


“Ma’am, we need you to calm down,” said Roy, taking the stethoscope from his ears. “This isn’t helping your husband. Now, he hasn’t had a heart attack. It looks like he’s had an allergic reaction to a bee sting.”

  
  


“He...he can get that sick from a bee sting? “

  
  


“Yes, ma’am, he can,” replied Johnny. “If he’s allergic.”

  
  


Captain Stanley, rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  
  


“They’re talking to a doctor right now. He’s on the other end of that phone. These firemen have undergone a lot of medical training. Believe me, your husband is in good hands.”

  
  


“Really? I…I’m sorry.” she sobbed. “I’m just so worried…”

  
  


“That’s understandable,” the Captain said calmly. “Chet, Marco, ya wanna help her to the bench over there?”

  
  


The ambulance cut it’s siren as it stopped out front.

  
  


“ _County_ _51, this is Rampart,_ ” the radio called.

  
  


“County 51. Go ahead, Rampart,” Johnny replied.

  
  


“ _County_ _51, go ahead and start an IV of Ringer’s Lactate. Administer 0.3mg epinephrine, monitor vitals and transport as soon as possible_.”

  
  


“Squad 51, 10-4. IV of Ringer’s, 0.3mg of epinephrine. ETA approximately five minutes.”

  
  


The ambulance attendants wheeled in a gurney as Roy started IV access and inserted the line. As he handed the bag to Chet, Johnny injected the epinephrine.

  
  


The attendants lifted the man onto the gurney. Johnny slipped his black helmet back on before he and Roy picked up their gear.

  
  


They quickly wheeled the man out front.

  
  


“I’ll go in the rig,” Roy said, handing Johnny his helmet. He climbed inside as the patient was lifted into the ambulance.

  
  


“Is…is he going to be alright?” the man’s wife asked Johnny.

  
  


“Looks that way,” Johnny offered a reassuring grin as he tipped his helmet.

 

“Thank you,” she sniffed.” Can I go with him?”

  
  


“You can ride up front in the ambulance,” said Captain Stanley as one of the attendants led her away.

  
  


Johnny replaced their gear in one of the squad’s right side compartments and tossed Roy’s helmet onto the front seat as the ambulance screamed away from the curb.

  
  


“L.A., Engine 51 Available,” Captain Stanley called into the Handy-Talkie before collapsing the antenna. “See ya at home, John.”

  
  


Johnny rounded the front of the squad and stepped into the street.

  
  


“Yep. See ya in-” a car sped by and splashed him with dirty water.

  
  


“You okay there, Johnny?” asked Chet as he stepped past him.

  
  


“Yeah,” Johnny sighed, tugging at his wet jacket. “I'm great.”

  
  


“Huh. What are the odds of you gettin’ splashed on a sunny day with not a cloud in the sky? Maybe that haircut really is some sort of jinx, Gage.”

  
  


Johnny shook his head as he opened his door on the squad.

  
  


“Yeah. A jinx,” he mumbled.” I’ll show _you_ a jinx…”

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


One of Squad 110’s paramedics and two ambulance attendants wheeled a large man through the Rampart ER’s automatic doors followed by a police officer.

  
  


“Put him in Four,” said Nurse Dixie McCall as she stepped out from around the front desk.

  
  


As they turned down the hall, two more attendants rolled in a gurney holding Squad 51’s patient. Roy walked alongside carrying the IV bag. Johnny followed, Handy-Talkie in hand.

  
  


Two young nurses glanced over at Johnny. He flashed them a smile and the two quickly turned away, giggling and whispering to each other.

  
  


His smile quickly faded.

  
  


Dixie entered Treatment Room 4 as 110’s patient was being lifted onto the table.

  
  


“Well, what happened to you?” asked Dixie, taking a metal clipboard from the wall.

  
  


“Got in a fight with another biker over on Alameda,” the officer answered, handcuffing the man’s wrist to the table’s rail. “They took the other guy to Harbor, he’s in a lot worse shape.”

  
  


“You bet he is,” the big, bearded man said, a blood soaked bandage taped to his forehead.

  
  


Dr. Morton walked in as Dixie handed him the clipboard.

  
  


“Well, what do we have Ms. McCall? “

  
  


“Oh no. he ain’t touchin’ me,” the patient growled.

  
  


“Really?” Dr. Morton folded his arms. “And may I ask why not?”

  
  


“You’re black. I ain’t lettin’ no colored doctor treat me.”

  
  


“Excuse me?” Dixie snapped. “It doesn’t matter what color this man is, he is highly qualified to treat a big lummox like you.”

  
  


“No. That’s fine, Dix,” Morton replied tersely. “This colored doctor is the only one who'll be treating you today, Sir. So I suggest you let me get on with it, so we can both be done with each other. If not, I will have the police take you now, untreated. And in that event, I can almost assure you that laceration on your head will become infected which could lead to sepsis and in that case it will be very hard for any doctor, black or white to save your sorry life. I'll be back in five minutes while you mull over your decision.”

  
  


Dr. Morton turned and strode out of the room.

  
  


Dixie picked up the phone and dialed.

  
  


“This is Ms. McCall. Please page Dr. Brackett for me.”

  
  


Johnny leaned against the counter and watched as Morton stalked past the base station.

  
  


“What’s up with Mike?” he asked.

  
  


Dixie shook her head as she sat down behind the counter.

  
  


“An ignorant patient and a stubborn young doctor.”

  
  


“Well, we’ve seen plenty of both,” Roy said as he retrieved some supplies from the cabinet.

  
  


Dixie scribbled on her clipboard and then looked up at Johnny.

  
  


“Hey, I like the haircut, Johnny. Sort of reminds me of a young Cary Grant.”

  
  


“Well, I’m glad somebody likes it,” Johnny sighed. “I’m startin' to think this thing is a curse or something. I’ve been feeling weird ever since I got it cut yesterday.”

  
  


“Weird?” asked Dixie. “How so?”

  
  


“I don’t know. Just sort of-”

  
  


Three beeps sounded over the Handy-Talkie.

  
  


“ _Squad 51, standby for response,_ ” called the familiar voice of the dispatcher.

  
  


Dixie smiled at the two paramedics.

  
  


“Well it's nice to be needed, isn't it boys?”

  
  


The dispatch tones sounded.

  
  


“ _Engine 51, with Squad 51 from Rampart, person trapped. 179 Fairfax. 1-7-9 Fairfax. Cross street Duke. Time out 0849._ ”

  
  


“Squad 51,10-4,” Johnny replied into the radio.

  
  


“Duty calls, Dix,” said Roy as they jogged for the exit.

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


Morton sat at a table on the hospital coffee shop's patio, staring at his cup of coffee.

Dr. Brackett pulled out a chair.

  
  


“Mind if I join you, Doctor?”

  
  


“Depends. Are you going to lecture me?”

  
  


“I wouldn’t call it a lecture,” Brackett said as he sat down.

  
  


“What _would_ you call it?”

  
  


“The voice of experience.”

  
  


“Go ahead,” Morton sighed.

  
  


“ Look, I know how you feel…”

  
  


“Do you Kel? Do you really know how _I_ feel?”

  
  


Brackett looked down briefly and then up at Morton.

  
  


“Well, not exactly. But I do know what it’s like to have to deal with a patient that you can’t stand.”

  
  


“It just makes me angry, Kel. That after all these years, there are still people like him in this country. I just…I needed to cool down for a second.”

  
  


Brackett nodded.

  
  


“There will always be stupid, ignorant, small minded people, Mike. They keep us employed.”

  
  


Morton chuckled slightly as he stared at his coffee cup.

  
  


“You took an oath to heal people. There weren’t any conditions placed on that, Brackett continued. “Everybody deserves top notch treatment when they come through the doors of this hospital. Even people like him. You’re young, Mike. You’ll treat a hundred more like him before your career is through.”

  
  


“So,” Morton sighed. “I guess I need to work on thickening my skin?”

  
  


“You don’t have to suffer fools gladly, Mike. But you do have patch them up.”

  
  


“Well, thank you for that sage advice, Doctor.”

  
  


Brackett smiled and raised his cup.

  
  


“No charge Doctor.”

  
  


Morton pushed aside his cup and stood up.

  
  


“If you need me, I'll be in Treatment Four.”

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


Johnny cut the squad's siren as they pulled into the parking lot of a small, standalone bank kiosk. A large pick up truck with a camper shell appeared to be wedged beneath the roof of the drive-through area.

  
  


Engine 51 had arrived just ahead of them and Captain Stanley met John and Roy as they stepped from the squad and retrieved their turnout coats.

  
  


“Driver's okay. He got out on his own and he's givin' a statement to the police,” Stanley informed them. “Apparently, he didn't see that eight foot clearance sign.”

  
  


“Any structural damage?” asked Roy.

  
  


“Yeah, the roof over the drive up window looks shaky. Already lost a couple bricks. Stoker's checking around back.”

  
  


Johnny nodded toward the building as he pulled on his turnout coat.

  
  


“Anybody inside?”

  
  


“Just the teller. She seems okay, but the power must've been knocked out and her speaker isn't working.”

  
  


Mike Stoker quickly jogged around the corner of the building.

  
  


“Cap, the whole place got knocked off it's foundation. It's pretty unstable.”

  
  


Chet and Marco Lopez made their way past the pick up truck.

  
  


“Side door's locked,” said Chet. “The frame creaked when Marco pulled on the door knob. If we try to force the door, the whole thing might come down.”

  
  


“Lovely,” Captain Stanley said as he pulled the Handy-Talkie from his turnout coat and extended the antenna. “L.A., Engine 51. I have a partial building collapse. Respond a truck company to my location for manpower and send me a camp crew with lumber to shore up the building.”

  
  


“ _Engine 51,_ ” the dispatcher replied, followed by four dispatch tones.

  
  


Captain Stanley tilted his helmet back on his forehead and exhaled.

  
  


“Obviously, we're gonna need to shore the roof up first before we can go about gettin' the teller outta there.”

 

“Makes sense, Cap,” replied Roy. “We'll go check on her and she how she's doing in the meantime.”

  
  


As the two paramedics approached, a small pile of bricks fell from the roof over the drive-thru, crashing to the ground in front of them.

  
  


“I don't know if we can wait for 'em to shore the place up,” Johnny said as he and Roy cautiously stepped below the sloping roof and made their way between the booth and truck.

  
  


They peered through the thick glass window to see an empty cubicle. Roy tapped on the window.

  
  


“Hello?! Fire Department!”

  
  


A frightened young African-American woman tentatively emerged from under the counter, sobbing.

  
  


“Are you hurt?” Johnny shouted.

  
  


The woman pointed to her ear, indicating that she couldn't hear.

  
  


“Are you okay?” Johnny mouthed the words.

  
  


The teller nodded, then scribbled on a piece of paper and held it up to the window.

  
  


_PLEASE GET ME OUT!_

  
  


The roof creaked overhead and another pile of bricks crashed to the pavement.

  
  


“Cap! We gotta get her out now!” Roy shouted. “We can't wait!”

  
  


“K-12?” Stoker asked his captain.

  
  


Stanley nodded.

  
  


“That's our best bet. Go ahead and grab it, Michael. John! Roy! We're gonna use the K-12!”

  
  


Stoker opened one of Engine 51's side compartments and retrieved the K-12 circular saw. He slipped on a protective face shield and made his way over to the building.

  
  


“Careful, Mike,” Roy cautioned as he and Johnny stepped back.

  
  


Mike pulled back on the starter rope and the saw started with a whine. Johnny waved for the teller to step back; she nodded quickly and complied.

  
  


Mike lifted the saw and sank the circular blade into the 3 inch thick Plexiglass. The saw whined loudly as it met resistance before spraying back a fine mist of the glass. Johnny and Roy covered their faces with their forearms to avoid the hail of fragments.

  
  


Marco arrived with an ax as Mike cautiously re-positioned the saw and started another vertical cut. After a square had been cut into the glass, Mike shut down the saw and stepped aside as Marco used the handle of his ax to tap out the chunk of Plexiglass, forcing it to fall inside the small bank.

  
  


Roy slipped off his turnout coat and draped it through the freshly cut opening.

  
  


“Okay, ma'am, can ya go ahead and climb towards me, now?” he asked, stepping forward.

  
  


“I can do that,” the teller replied nervously. “I can do that.”

  
  


She climbed up onto the counter and then crawled head first through the opening. Johnny, Roy and Marco helped lift her outside and she collapsed against them, sobbing. Johnny scooped her up into his arms and carried her out from under the roof.

  
  


“You're okay now,” he said quietly. “You're all right.”

  
  


“Thank you,” she sobbed, gripping his turnout coat.

  
  


“My partner and I are just gonna take a look at you and make sure you're all right,” Johnny said as he eased her down into a sitting position on Squad 51's tailboard.

  
  


“L.A., Engine 51,” Captain Stanley called into his radio as Truck 127's snorkel pulled onto the lot. “Victim has been extricated from the building. All companies out approximately thirty minutes.”  
  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


Squad 51 had been dispatched on two more runs following the rescue at the bank kiosk. When they finally returned to quarters, the aroma of lunch wafted onto the apparatus floor as Johnny and Roy stepped from the squad.

  
  


“Somethin' sure smells good,” said Roy as he strolled into the kitchen ahead of his partner.

  
  


“Albondigas,” Marco stirred a pot at the stove. “My mother's recipe.”  
  
  


Johnny sat down on the couch beside Henry, the station's basset hound.  
  
  


“Well, whatever it is, I could eat a couple bowls at least. How 'bout you Henry? You want-”

  
  


The dog growled as Johnny reached out to pet him.

  
  


“Geez! What's his problem?”

  
  


Henry barked twice.

  
  


Johnny shook his head.

  
  


“Anybody know what's gotten into him?”

  
  


“Ya know what is,” said Chet as he set a stack of bowls on the table.

  
  


“Don't say it,” Johnny sighed.

  
  


“It's the haircut, Gage. The mutt doesn't recognize you.”

  
  


“Oh come on, Kelly. Will you give it a rest already?”

  
  


Roy sat down at the table.

  
  


“Ya know, there might be somethin' to that. I mean, when Joanne gets her hair done, sometimes our dog barks at her. It's like he doesn't know who she is at first.”

  
  


“See?” Chet pointed at Roy.  
  
  


Stoker looked up from his newspaper.

  
  


“I thought dogs recognized people by smell.”

  
  


Roy shrugged.

  
  


“Well, it uh...it's just a theory.”

  
  


Johnny reached out for Henry who again growled at him. He slowly drew back his hand.

  
  


Marco tossed a towel over his shoulder as he chopped peppers at the counter.  
  
“You guys meet that new lady doctor yet?”

  
  


“What lady doctor? I don't know anything about a lady doctor,” Johnny called over his shoulder as he continued to stare at the dog.  
  
“Y'know, over at Rampart,” Captain Stanley pushed Henry aside into Johnny's lap as he sat down beside him on the couch. “We rolled on a difficulty breather with Squad 45 this morning. We could hear her over the Bio-Com.”

  
  


“I guess we missed her,” Roy grabbed the sports section from Mike.

  
  


Johnny stood and walked over to the table.

  
  


“Well, what'd she sound like?”

  
  


“Sexy, man,” Chet replied. “Kinda smoky. You know the type.”

  
  


Johnny stretched and nodded towards the door.

  
  


“Ya know, Roy, uh, weren't we a little short on supplies? Maybe we should skip on over to Rampart and uh...?”

  
  


“No, we're pretty well stocked.” Roy focused on his newspaper.

  
  


“Marco's almost got lunch ready,” Captain Stanley said. “Don't you think it can wait?”

  
  


Johnny scratched the back of his head.

  
  


“Uh, yeah, but...”

  
  


The tones sounded.

  
  


“ _Squad 51, person sick. 1542 Justin Way, 1-5-4-2 Justin Way. Cross street, McCormick. Time out 1224._ ”

  
  


The two paramedics jogged out of the kitchen; seconds later, Squad 51 rolled out of the station, siren screaming.

  
  


Four minutes later, they pulled to a stop in front of a small duplex.

  
  


A young man with long brown hair and a shaggy beard ran down the front walkway as Johnny and Roy emerged from the squad.

  
  


“Hey! Hey, you guys gotta help my buddy, Lance!” the man said quickly. “He's...he's like, in a real bad way, ya dig?”

  
  


Johnny opened one of the squad's side compartments.

  
  


“Okay, show us where he is,” he replied, pulling the drug box and Bio-phone from the cabinet.

  
  


Roy retrieved the defibrillator as well as the green oxygen case and followed his partner up the walkway.

  
  


The young man led them into a small apartment. A clean shaven young man with short blond hair sat on the couch, bare-chested and breathing heavily.

  
  


“Why...why did you call the...the cops, man?” the man on the couch mumbled as his shoulders twitched.

  
  


“They're not the cops, man,” his friend explained. “They're firemen. See? This is why I called you guys. He's been actin' all weird and confused and stuff.”

  
  


Johnny sat down on the couch beside the man.  
  
“How long's he been like this?”

  
  


The friend ran a hand through his hair nervously.

  
  


“Like, all morning, man, but he...he started gettin' worse.”

  
  


“Lance? Can ya tell me what the problem is?” Johnny asked as he briefly flashed his penlight in the patient's eyes. “Pupils are dilated, Roy.”

  
  


“Kinda...hard to breathe...” the man wheezed. “Chest...chest hurts...”  
  
“Did he take anything?” asked Roy as he opened the oxygen case.

  
  


“What, like drugs? Nah, man. Lance's is really straight, ya know,” the bearded man replied. “He don't even touch grass or nothin'.”  
  
“Did he eat anything? Drink anything?

  
  


“Just some coffee, man. He's been crammin' for two days for a big exam he's got comin' up.”  
  
  


“Has this ever happened to him before?”  
  
“Not that I know of. I...I don't know.”

  
Johnny stared at his watch as he checked the patient's pulse.

  
  


The man smacked his lips.  
  
“I'm thirsty...I'm really thirsty...wanna go home.”  
  
His friend shook his head.  
  
“You ARE home, man!”

  
  


“Pulse is 40,” said Johnny as he wrapped the BP cuff around the man's right arm.

  
  


Roy slipped an oxygen mask over the patient's face, then began to attach electrode patches to his chest. He opened the Bio-phone case and connected the antenna.

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


An attractive young Hispanic doctor with her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun and sporting an olive colored turtleneck under her lab coat, yawned as she dropped a chart into the rack at Rampart's base station.

  
  


“Come on now, Dr. Reyes, it's barely the shank of the afternoon,” said Dixie as she handed her a cup of coffee. “you can't be worn out already.”

  
  


“Thank you,” Gloria Reyes said gratefully, sipping from the mug. “I'm working a double shift. I don't think I've even had two hours sleep.”

  
  


“I remember those days,” Dr. Early emerged from the telemetry room. “Not so fondly, either. How are you finding things here at Rampart?”

  
  


“Busy,” Dr. Reyes leaned against the counter. “Not that I'm complaining. Busy is good. I'm glad to be here.”

  
  


“Well, if you're going to do an ER residency, Rampart's as good a place as any,” offered Dixie. “You'll see it all here eventually.”

  
  


The light above the telemetry room door flashed as a buzzer sounded.

  
  


“Speaking of which,” she nodded towards the room.

  
  


“Handled the base station yet, Doctor?” asked Dr. Early.

  
  


“Once. This morning,” Dr. Reyes heaved a sigh. “I guess practice makes perfect.”

  
  


“Rampart Base, this is County 51,” Roy's voice called from the radio as the doctors stepped into the small room. “do you copy?”

  
  


“County 51, this is Rampart. I copy you,” Reyes responded. “go ahead.”

  
  


“Rampart, County 51,” Roy continued. “We have a male patient, approximately 22 years of age, six-foot, two-hundred pounds. He's complaining of chest pains. He's dyspneic and appears to be somewhat confused. He's also complained of being thirsty. We've just started him on 15 liters O-2. Stand by for vitals.”

  
  


“B.P.'s 160/90, pulse is 40, respirations 28,” Johnny informed his partner as he placed the stethoscope's bell on the patient's back and listened. “I've got some slight wheezing in both lungs.”

  
  


“Rampart, B.P. Is 160/90, pulse is 40, respirations 28,” Roy continued. “pupils are dilated. Patient has slight bilateral wheezing.”

  
  


“10-4, County 51,” Dr. Reyes replied. “Go ahead and send me an EKG strip, please.”

  
  


“10-4, Rampart,” Roy switched a knob on the heart monitor. “This will be lead 2.”

  
  


The EKG machine at the base station came to life as a roll of paper began to unfurl with the patient's heart rhythm on it.

  
  


Dr. Reyes picked up the paper and studied it as it snaked from the machine.

  
  


“Sinus arrhythmia.”

  
  


Dr. Early folded his arms.

  
  


“What do you think, Doctor?”

  
  


Dr. Reyes stopped the readout and tore the paper from the machine.

  
  


“Chest pains, confusion, thirst, dyspnea,” she said. “Sounds like a pretty serious case of dehydration.”

  
  


She keyed the radio again.

  
  


“'51, has the patient had anything to eat or drink recently?”

  
  


“We're told the patient's only had coffee today, Rampart,” Roy responded.

  
  


“How much coffee?”

  
  


Roy glanced over at the patient's friend who stared at the floor, nervously tugging at his hair.

  
  


“Hey! Buddy!” Johnny clapped his hands. “How much coffee has your friend here had to drink?”

  
  


“Oh, man. Like a lot,” the man replied. “Probably about three pots that I know of.”

  
  


“No wonder,” Roy sighed. “Rampart, County 51, patient has ingested approximately three pots of coffee today.”

  
  


“Caffeine overdose,” Dr. Reyes said to her older colleague before returning her attention to the radio. “Okay, '51 go ahead and start two large bore IV's, Ringer's lactate, continue to monitor vitals and transport as soon as possible.”

  
  


“10-4, Rampart. Two large bore IV's Ringer's lactate and monitor vitals,” Roy scribbled on his notepad as the ambulance attendants entered with a gurney. “Our ETA is approximately ten minutes.”

  
  


The attendants lifted the man onto the gurney.

  
  


“I'm sorry that I freaked out, man,” the bearded man said. “Lance's is just like, my main man, ya dig? We been buddies since we was kids.”

  
  


“Well, he should be okay,” Roy slipped on his helmet as he followed Johnny and the ambulance crew outside. “Just tell 'im to lay off the coffee for a while.”

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


Johnny and Roy stepped out into the hall from an exam room, having just turned over their patient to the ER staff.

  
  


“Afternoon, boys,” Dr. Morton said as he passed by.

  
  


“Hey, Doc.” Johnny caught his arm. “Can I ask you a question?”

  
  


“Sure.”

  
  


“We heard about the new doctor. The lady one.”

  
  


“Yes?”

  
  


“Well, we just...I mean, Roy and I, we were wondering ya know, how is she? I mean she just handled our last run and...”

  
  


“Oh, Dr. Reyes is very competent,” Dr. Morton folded his arms. “A bit hesitant at times, but that's to be expected with new doctors.”

  
  


Johnny nodded as he ran a hand over his mouth and cleared his throat.

  
  


“So...is she...ya know?”

  
  


Morton furrowed his brow and looked at Roy.

  
  


“Does he always talk like this?”

  
  


Roy shrugged.

  
  


“Sometimes he pantomimes.”

  
  


Johnny lowered his voice.

  
  


“Is she...ya know, is she pretty or...I mean, what does she look like?”

  
  


Morton stared at his feet for a second before he fixed his gaze on Johnny.

  
  


“I don't think it would be very professional of me to dignify that query with a response. You know, it _is_ 1977, John. Women doctors are not that uncommon. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients to attend to.”

  
  


Johnny rested his hands on his hips.

  
  


“Well, ya don't have to be sore, Mike. I just...”

  
  


Roy tugged at his partner's elbow.

  
  


“Quit while you're behind.”

  
  


“Geez, I was just askin' a question,” Johnny mumbled as they headed back down the hall.

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


Station 51 had responded to a total of eight more runs throughout the afternoon and into the evening. The majority of the crew had turned in around ten o'clock and they were sleeping peacefully in their bunks, aside from the occasional snort from Chet Kelly.

  
  


Johnny stood in the bathroom in a T-shirt and shorts, staring at himself in the mirror. He turned his head from side to side, inspecting his profile. He ran a hand through his hair.

  
  


“My hair looks fine,” he mumbled. “Chet doesn't know what he's talkin' about.”

  
  


He picked up his turnouts and padded back through the dorm. He quietly placed his boots beside his bunk and laid down. He draped an arm over his eyes and heaved a sigh.

  
  


The lights snapped on as two dispatch tones shattered the silence, followed by several more tones of alternating pitch.

  
  


The firefighters tossed back their covers and stepped into their turnouts as the dispatcher's measured voice echoed off of the station's brick walls.

  
  


“ _Station 51, Engine 36, Engine 236, Truck 116, Truck 127, Battalion 14, Structure fire. 89 San Pablo Way. 8-9 San Pablo Way. Cross street, Magnolia. Time out 2351._ ”

  
  


Captain Stanley snatched the mic from the radio beside his bed as he pulled up his suspenders.

  
  


“Station 51, 10-4. KMG-365.”

  
  


The firefighters jogged out onto the apparatus bay where they donned their turnout coats and climbed aboard the rigs. Engines growled to life and red lights flashed inside the station as the apparatus door lifted. Seconds later, Squad 51 rolled out and turned left onto the deserted boulevard, followed by the big Ward La France pumper, each with sirens wailing.

  
  


Within three minutes, Engine and Squad 51 stopped before a small, horseshoe shaped apartment complex. Smoke billowed out from an apartment on the second floor. Frightened residents wearing robes and pajamas emerged from their apartments

  
  


Roy and Johnny quickly stepped from the squad and retrieved their breathing apparatus from the left side of the truck.

  
  


“Gage! DeSoto! I want ya to do a search! Lopez! Kelly! Pull an inch and a half!,” Captain Stanley called as he extended his radio's antenna. “L.A., Engine 51. We have a two story apartment building with smoke showing from the second floor. Engine 36, take the hydrant and lay a supply line to Engine 51. Engine 236, come on through and back up Engine 51 on fire attack.”

  
  


The two paramedics quickly donned their masks and made their way across the courtyard. Sirens filled the air. The neighborhood was tinted red by the fire engines' flashing emergency lights.

  
  


Marco and Chet stretched the inch and a half hose line across the yard and followed Johnny and Roy up the stairs to the second floor walkway. Thick black smoke billowed out from the window beside the front door of Apartment K. Roy and Johnny ducked under the smoke as Marco and Chet crouched behind them.

  
  


Roy braced himself against the railing and mule kicked the door twice. The door swung inward following the second kick and a pall of dark smoke immediately rolled out over the firefighters. Flames licked out from underneath the top of the doorway. Johnny and Roy dropped low and crawled into the apartment. Marco opened up the nozzle and covered them with a fog pattern as he and Chet advanced the hose line into the apartment behind them.

  
  


"Fire department!" Johnny called through his mask. "Is there anybody in here?!"

  
  


Battalion 14's red sedan parked across the street from the apartment complex. Chief McConnikee emerged from the car and slipped on his white helmet as he walked past Engine 51.

  
  


"Good job, Hank," the Chief stepped onto the sidewalk. "I'll take over. You can join your men."

  
  


"Thanks, Chief," Captain Stanley said as he hefted his air-pack onto his back.

  
  


"L.A., Battalion 14 at scene, assuming command," the Chief called into his black Handy-Talkie. "Truck 116, ladder the roof and start ventilation work. Truck 127, I want you to check for extension in the apartment below the fire."

  
  


"Fire department!" Roy called out as he made his way across the carpet. "Hello!"

  
  


He heard a muffled cough off to his left.

  
  


"Johnny! I think I found somebody!"

  
  


He swept his hand out to the left and it seized on an arm. He crawled closer and could make out the form of an adult.

  
  


"Help..." the old man coughed.

  
  


"It's alright, I gotcha!" Roy shouted as he slipped his arms around the man and dragged him back across the floor. With Engine 51's crew attacking the stubborn flames, the smoke had thinned just enough so that Roy could see his way out. He lifted the man onto his shoulders and carried him out the door.

  
  


Captain Stanley met Roy as he descended the stairs.

  
  


"You need some help?"

  
  


"No, Cap. I've got 'im," Roy replied. "Johnny's still inside."

  
  


Stanley nodded and continued on up the staircase. Johnny finished his search of the apartment and headed for the door.

  
  


"All clear!" he called to the men on the hose line.

  
  


Marco and Chet both nodded as they pushed further into the apartment. There was a sudden cracking sound overhead. Johnny looked up just in time to see the ceiling sag and split open above Chet's head.

  
  


"Look out!" he shouted.

  
  


He grabbed Chet's right arm and one of the straps of his air-pack and forcefully yanked him backwards. A pile of flaming debris crashed to the floor, knocking Marco forward and causing Chet and Johnny to crash against the wall. As the two men tumbled to the floor, a second pile of burning plaster and wood rained down, with several embers landing on the legs of Chet's turnout pants.

  
  


Marco quickly scrambled to his feet and turned the hose on Chet, dousing the embers and washing the debris off of him.

  
  


Captain Stanley rushed into the apartment.

  
  


"What the heck happened? You guys alright?!" he called, his voice muffled by his mask.

  
  


"Yeah, I think we're okay, Cap," Johnny replied, standing up.

  
  


Chet knelt on the carpet, stunned by the events of the previous moments.

  
  


"I'm okay, Cap," he sighed as Captain Stanley helped him to his feet. "I think I'm just a little burnt around the edges."

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


Chet sat on the tailboard of Squad 51, his helmet and turnout coat beside him. He leaned back wearily against the squad.

  
  


Johnny pulled off his heavy gloves and tossed them into his helmet.

  
  


"Ya know, I still think you should go get checked out at Rampart."

  
  


Chet waved him off.

  
  


"Aw, I'm fine," he sighed. "I've been through worse."  
  
  


Roy ambled over as an ambulance pulled away from the scene.

  
  


"How's the old man?" asked Johnny.

  
  


"I think he'll be fine. Gave him some oxygen and he perked right up," Roy nodded towards Chet. "What happened up there?"

  
  


"Ceiling collapsed," Johnny leaned against the front of Engine 51. "It was kinda rough there for a minute."

  
  


"Kinda?" Chet smirked under his bushy mustache. "Don't oversell it, Johnny."

  
  


Chief McConnikee stepped over, his helmet in his hands.

  
  


"How we doin', fellas?"

  
  


"Everything's fine, Chief," the three firefighters responded, the textbook reply to any inquiry from a chief officer.

  
  


"Well, I heard about what happened up there," the Chief said. "Glad you men made it out safely, and in one piece."

  
  


Chet nodded.

  
  


"So are we, Chief."

  
  


"Well, one thing's for certain," McConnikee said as he slapped Johnny on the back. "Looks like ol' Samson here didn't lose any of his strength after all, did he?"

  
  


He walked away chuckling to himself.

  
  


Johnny brushed a hand through his short haircut and flashed a sheepish grin.

  
  


"Wellll, I don't know about that. I mean, Samson's laying it on a bit thick. Although, it was your analogy, Chet. So when you think about it..."

  
  


Chet grabbed his coat and helmet as he stood up.

  
  


"Ya know Roy, maybe I should go to the hospital after all. I'm suddenly sick to my stomach."

  
  


Roy turned and followed Chet.

  
  


"Yeah, I may join you."

  
  


Johnny slipped his helmet back on and started after his colleagues when he stopped beside Squad 51 and removed his helmet.

  
  


He stared in the squad's side view mirror and picked at an errant hair.

  
  


**END**

  
  


This is a work of fiction and any similarities to any actual persons, places or incidents is purely coincidental. All firefighting and medical information may not be entirely accurate.

  
  


  
  


  
  


 


End file.
